australian brandenburg orchestra baroque...

Australian Brandenburg Orchestra

BArOque TApAs

paul Dyer Artistic Director

programKapsberger Toccata Arpeggiata from Libro primo d’intavolatura di chitarone, Venice, 1604 Falconieri Ciaconna from Il primo libro di canzoni, Naples, 1650Kapsberger Avrilla mia Kapsberger Bergamasca Kapsberger CanariosCazzati Passacaglia from Op 22, Trattenimento per camera d’arie, correnti, e balletti, Bologna, 1660 Monteverdi Chiome d’oro, from the Seventh Book of Madrigals, Venice, 1619Improvisation Spagnoletta Monteverdi Si dolce è il tormento Falconieri Folias (a 3) echa para mi Señora

InTervAl

Improvisation Passacaglia AndaluzFerrari Amanti, io vi sò direlaurenti Introduzione Dodicesima from Suonate per camera, Op 1Merula Ciaccona from Canzoni Libro Terzo, Op 12 Improvisation Tarantella, La CarpineseKapsberger Toccata VIIIHidalgo Esperar, sentir, morir

sYDneYCity recital Hall Angel placeWednesday 17 March 2010 at 7 pm

MelBOurneMelbourne recital CentreTuesday 23, Wednesday 24 March 2010 at 7.30 pm

The Australian Brandenburg Orchestra is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

The Australian Brandenburg Orchestra is assisted by the NSW Government through Arts NSW. PRINCIPAL PARTNER

BAROQUE TAPAS PROGRAM_3.indd 1 10/3/10 5:54:32 PM

Baroque Tapas

spainThe passacaglia comes from 17th-century spain, from the words ‘pasar’ (to walk) and ‘calle’ (street).

Where do you walk when you are full of joy or sorrow? Do you wind through the streets to find a garden, or a courtyard, to sit surrounded by your thoughts? Perhaps all you really want is good company, a good ‘red’ and some great music? – paul Dyer

In another part of town, behind a high wall, a garden with brick pathways is planted with almond trees and pomegranates, and overblown roses. It once belonged to a prince, but now it’s shift workers and lovers and children in prams who breathe in the scents and watch the erratic flight of the night insects.In a small room, low-ceilinged at the top of the hill, close to a church with a dusty terracotta roof, around the corner from the plaza that smells of tomatoes, and up some broad, worn steps, there’s music and dancing. And red wine in glass jugs; walls covered in cheaply framed photographs. 6


Baroque Tapas

AustriaMa quando viddi di bella mano la pura neve che m’infiammò…

What is it that sparks the fires of love? Is it that moment in a dance when two people find each other? Perhaps this flame flickers into life with a longing gaze shared between two strangers in a café, as the world passes them by. Regardless, this fire can burn in even the coldest of places. – paul

But when I saw the beautiful hand as white as snow, I was set on fire…

- from Avrilla mia (My Avrilla) by Kapsberger

The dance everyone knows is in three-four time, as smoothly flowing and predictable as the river at the edge of the city. It’s snowing for the start of the ball season, but women in floor-length gowns – no coats, just jewels, glittering – and men in black tie don’t notice.

In every street and on any day, men wear ties, women wear frocks and a handshake is the routine greeting. On those same streets, coffee houses, with elegant cakes in cabinets, are packed, and rooms, no longer lived in, are deliriously decorated in gold and mirror. Ceilings are painted with grand allegories, and secret staircases and passages used to lead to double lives. 8


10

Baroque Tapas

ItalyAd ogni modo e via Il morir per amor è una pazzia…

In the absence of love there is loneliness, and in the absence of music there is silence. It is easy to get lost in both. Without a love, a busy city can feel empty. With music, an empty city can be full of exciting possibilities. When shutters are up and the gates are closed, from the outside they seem very uninviting and foreboding. But on the inside, they seem to keep the outside world at bay. – paul

After all, whatever happens it is madness to die for love…

– from Amanti, io vi sò dire (Lovers, I will tell you) by Ferrari

The streets are empty. No bars are open, not one. No tables and chairs on the street, no chink of glasses. That will start up again in a few hours. A church bell rings three times, hanging in the mist. At the end of a laneway a couple dances in the blurred moonlight, moving in time to music that only they can hear.

The pale outline of the cathedral dome can be seen up above the rooftops; look carefully and there’s the faintest sign of a cross, nothing too elaborate. Shutters are closed tight against the mustard and terracotta walls. Solid gates, tall enough for carriages, hide courtyards beyond. The town doesn’t reveal itself easily.


Baroque Tapas

Avrilla mia

Avrilla mia quanto m’acceseQuel vivo raggio di tua beltàQuando un tuo sguardo al cor mi sceseIo restai prio di libertà.

Ohime, ch’i lampi de tuoi bei lumiA questi miei già piacquero siChe ben che versin fontane e fiumiAman lo strale che li fieri.

Ma quando viddi di bella manoLa pura neve che m’infiammòAhi ch’usar pensier fu vanoChe da me l’alma se ne volò.

Bocca di rose porta del risoChiome catene di servitù;Cosi m’havete da me dimisoChe tornar mio non spero più.

Chiome d’oro

Chiome d’oro, bel tesoro,Tu mi leghi in mille modiSe t’annodi seti snodi.

Candidette Perle eletteSe le rose che copriteDiscoprite mi ferite.

Vive stelle, che si belleE si vaghe risplendeteSe ridete m’ancidete.

Preziose, amorose,Coraline labbra amateSe parlate mi beate.

O bel nodo per cui godo!O soave uscit di vita!O gradita mia ferita!

Si dolce e’l tormento

Si dolce e’l tormentoChe in seno mi staCh’io vivo contentoPer cruda beltà.Nel ciel di bellezzaS’accreschi fierezzaEt manchi pietàChe sempre qual scoglioAll’onda d’orgoglioMia fede sarà.

My Avrilla, when I was set on fireBy your dazzling beauty,When your glance touched my heart,I lost my freedom.

Alas, the light in your eyesSo pleased mineThat although they pour fountains of tears,Still I love the arrow that pierced me.

But when I saw the beautiful handAs white as snow, I was set on fire;Ah, trying to think is in vain,My soul cannot escape.

Mouth of roses, threshold of laughter,Hair that made me a slave in chains;You have changed me so muchI have no hope of being myself again.

Golden tresses, beautiful treasure,You bind me in a thousand waysWhether knotted or flowing free.

White well-chosen pearls,When the roses that cover youUncover you, you wound me.

Lively stars, which sparkle withSuch beauty and charmWhen you laugh you kill me.

So precious, so loving,Dearest coral lips,If you speak I am blessed.

Oh dear bonds which make me happy!Oh sweet loss of life!Oh my pleasing wound!

So sweet is the tormentThat I have in my heartThat I live contentWith your cruel beauty.In the heaven of beautyHaughtiness growsAnd pity is lackingIn which always, like a rockAgainst the wave of pride,I will put my trust.12


13

La speme fallaceRivolgam’il pieDiletto ne paceNon scendano a me.E l’empia ch’adoroMi nieghi ristoroDi buona mercè.Tra doglia infinitaTra speme traditaVivrà la mia fè.

Per foco e per geloRiposo no hoNel porto del CieloRiposo haverò.Se colpo mortaleCon rigido straleIl cor m’impiagòCangiando mia sorteCol dardo di morteIl cor sanerò.

Se fiamma d’amoreGià mai non sentìQuel riggido coreCh’il cor mi rapì.Se nega pietateLa cruda beltateChe l’alma invaghìBen fia che dolentePentita e languenteSospirimi un dì.

Amanti, io vi sò dire

Amanti, io vi sò direCh’è meglio assai fuggireBella donna vezzosaÒ sia cruda o pietosa;Ad ogni modo e viaIl morir per amor è una pazzia.

Non accade pensareDi gioir in amare:Amoroso contentoDedicato è al momento,E bella donna, al fine,Rosa non dona mai senza le spine.La speme del gioireFondata è su ’l martire;Bellezza e cortesiaNon stann’ in compagnia;So ben dir con mio dannoChe la morte ed amor insieme vanno.

Vi vuol pianti a diluviPer spegner i vesuviD’un cor innamorato,

Vain hopebesets me,Neither joy nor peaceDescends on me.And the cruel one that I adoreDenies me the consolationOf gentle pity.Amidst infinite pain,Amidst hope betrayedMy faith will live.

Between fire and iceI have no rest,Only in the haven of heavenWill I have rest.If a mortal blowFrom a sharp arrowWounds my heart,Changing my destinyWith the dart of death,My heart will be healed.

It seems that the flame of loveHas never been feltBy that hard heartWhich has ravished my heart.If I am denied pityBy the cruel beautyWho has captivated my soul,Surely suffering,Repentant and languishingShe will one day sigh for me.

Lovers, I will tell youThat it is much better to fleeA beautiful and charming woman,Whether she is cruel or merciful;After all, whatever happensIt is madness to die for love.

Do not thinkTo find joy in love:Amorous contentmentIs devoted to the moment,And a beautiful woman, in the end,Never gives roses without thorns.The hope of pleasureIs based on suffering;Beauty and kindnessDo not go well together;I can say to my detrimentThat death and love go together.

It takes floods of tearsTo extinguish the volcanoesOf an amorous heart,


Baroque Tapas

D’un spirito infiammato;Pria che si giunga in portoQuante volte si dice: Ohimè son morto.

Credetel a costuiChe per prova può dir: Io vidi, io fui;Se creder nol volete,Lasciate star che poco importa a me:Seguitate ad amar; ad ogni modo,Chi de’ rompersi il collo non accadeChe schivi od erta o fondo,che per proverbio senti sempre dire;dal destinato non si può fuggire.

Donna, so chi tu sei;Amor, so i fatti miei.Io non tresco più con voi;Alla laga ambidoiSogn’un fosse com’iosaria un balordo Amor e non un dio.

La Carpinese

Pigliate la palette e vae pi’ffocoE va’ call casa di lu ‘nnuammuratoE passa duje ore ‘e juoco.

Si mamma se n’addona ‘e chiste juocoDille ca so’state falelle de foco,E vule di’ e llà, chello che vo’ la femmena fa!Luce lu sole quanno; buono tiempo,Luce lu pettu tujo, donna galanteMpietto li tieni duje pugnali argiento.

A chi litocchi bella, nci fa santo,E ti li tocchi je ca so’ l’amanteE ‘mParaviso jamme certamente ...E vule di’ e llà, chello che vo’ la femmena fa!

Of a soul that has been set alight;Before reaching safetyHow many times has one said: ‘Alas, I am dead.’

Believe him who can sayFrom experience: ‘I saw it, I was there.’If you will not believe himForget it, it’s nothing to me:Go on loving, in every wayFor he who breaks his neck has never been ableTo avoid the steep climb or the fall,For I have always heard say, by the proverb,That no-one can escape his destiny.

Woman, I know who you are;Love, I know what to expect.I will have no more to do with you;Keep away from me, both of you!If everyone was like meLove would be a fool and not a god.

Take the shovel and rekindle the fire,Go to your loved oneAnd spend two hours in playing.

If your mother is angry at your playingTell her your face is red from the fire,Say what you like to her, a woman does what she likes!The sun shines when the weather is fine,Your breasts are radiant, gentle ladyYour bosom conceals two silver daggers.

He who touches them, becomes a saint.And I touch them, I the loverWe will certainly go to paradise …Say what you like to her, a woman does what she likes!14


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Why do you seek to add further grief to my torment,Which always silently attentivePunishes me already?Don’t mistake these words for sighs,For I live remembering the past,And although it isn’t a crime,Death will suffice.

To hope, to feel, to die, to adore …There is a place in my eternal loveFor all this sorrow!

To adore, to die, to feel, to hope …I follow the pure example of the swanSo the chords I play need softer accents;After the song death follows …These sounds pouring from my cowardly lips,Shows not only signs of reliefBut burning flames within my soul.

To hope, to feel, to die, to adore …There is a place in my eternal loveFor all this sorrow!To adore, to die, to feel, to hope …

Esperar, sentir, morir

Porqué más iras buscas que mi tormento,Si en su siempre callado dolor atento,Yo proprio me castigo lo que me quejo?Por acentos no pases estos suspiros,Pues són los postreros áyes que animo,Bástenme que sean muerte,no, no, no sean delito.

Esperar, sentir, morir, adorar ...Porque en el pesar de mi eterno amorCaber puede en su dolor!

Adorar, morir, sentir, esperar …De éste cándido cisne sigo el ejemploPues mi acorde ansía mi suave acentoMezclado en lo que canto va lo que muero ...Estas voces que el labio vierte cobarde,Ya más que la por alivio por muestra salenDe las llamas que dentro del pecho arden!

Esperar, sentir, morir, adorar ...Porque en el pesar de mi eterno amorCaber puede en su dolor!Adorar, morir, sentir, esperar …

Creative text by Leta Keens Translations © Lynne Murray 2010


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